


Koi No Yokan

by hearthope



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Other, Post-Break Up, Slow Burn, kind of?, this is tender i promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2019-10-23 03:51:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17675915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearthope/pseuds/hearthope
Summary: It's like this:At the end of a star's life, it either bursts into supernova, or collapses into a black hole.  Koutarou's always thought what he and Akaashi had - whatever it may have been - collapsed, turned to nothing, sucked all the life and possibility out of the future.He's realizing, now, he might have been wrong.Bokuto and Akaashi: rewritten.





	1. a bang and a whisper

**Author's Note:**

> [ever since the day i first saw you,  
>  in my heart, it's only you](https://youtu.be/gZItyr1SNjU)

Koutarou stands in the middle the refrigerated section at the grocery store, trying to remember exactly which brand of cheese it is his mother usually buys. It’s painfully late, and the droning buzz of the fluorescent lights isn’t helping his exhaustion any. It’s been a long day, between early practices and all the patrons that stayed well past closing at the library, but his plans of just absolutely crashing face-first into his bed have to wait because he has to get groceries with his mom all tied up at the moment and, well. He’s got a headache. He wants to go home and binge watch Naruto. He thinks it’s the yellow package.

  


As he’s picking it up, he catches a flash of something painfully familiar from the corner of his eye. And he’s nearly positive that there’s no way. He’s definitely wrong, he’s just tired and his brain is making things up to punish him for the lack of sleep. And because it’s purely, wholly impossible, he looks. Just to confirm what he already knows. But by the time he’s finally turned, the aisle is empty. Koutarou stares at the vacant space for longer than he probably should, a little spaced out, then firmly shakes his head, tosses the cheese into his basket, and continues around to the next aisle.

  


Even as he works through the rest of the shopping list, he can’t shake the feeling that lingers in the pit of his stomach. There are very, very few people who would ever, _ever—_ But, they’re supposed to still be in Chicago (or maybe New York?) aren’t they, which is a pretty far shot from Tokyo either way, so there’s no chance. He just needs to get home and crash into his couch, take a nap. It’s loneliness, probably. The fact that Kuroo and Kenma’s anniversary was yesterday, and the day before, Koutarou had gone on one more bad date amongst a whole string of bad dates from the last month, and this is all his imagination, rubbing salt in the wound.

  


Seriously few people though. _Seriously_ few, because it takes a certain type to have such terrible taste, and it would take a lot more than three years and six thousand miles for Koutarou to forget that. So he does the irrational thing, and paces past each individual aisle, peering down the lines of shelves carefully, so there’s no way for him to miss anything. And he’s just about confirmed that it was all in his head, there was never anything there at all to begin with, but then—

  


There, standing right in front of a shelf of chocolates, wearing the world’s ugliest, most unfunny sweatshirt, stitched together with fabric that’s the worst shade of yellow imaginable. Koutarou still clearly remembers seeing it hanging in a store window, ages ago, and commenting that it was a crime against fashion. Maybe it should feel a little stilting, and maybe it does feel that way. There’s definitely something sitting in his chest, but his head’s a little too mixed up to piece it together. Is it acceptable to say hello to someone you haven’t spoken to in over a year? How do you address someone who isn’t actually your ex because you never really dated, but your relationship wasn’t totally platonic, either, was it, just in that weird limbo between happening and not happening, a coward’s romance—

  


“Bokuto-san?”

  


Ah. They’ve noticed him. Spared him the decision, at least, as to whether or not he should say anything.

  


“Akaashi!” Koutarou pulls up a smile that feels awkward on his face. He steps just barely into the aisle, leaving a fair amount of distance between them. He’s not sure what exactly is appropriate in this situation. What’s acceptable between them now? “Hey hey! I didn’t know you were back.” He swallows around a lump in his throat. Stupid. Of course he didn’t know. It’s not like they’ve been keeping in touch as of late. It’s at the same time both of their faults and neither of theirs. Circumstance.

  


Akaashi nods. They look— different. Koutarou can’t really place it. Hair that’s longer in some places and shorter in others, but curlier all around. They’re a little taller, maybe, or maybe it’s just been so long that Koutarou doesn’t remember what the difference between the two of them standing together was to begin with. “It’s only been a couple weeks,” they say. “I graduated a semester early.”

  


“Oh.” Koutarou wracks his brain, trying to remember if they ever mentioned that they were planning to do so. But his mind is buzzing too much to think straight, so he can’t place any sort of conversation. He blinks at Akaashi, and thinks he’s maybe been silent a beat too long. “That’s cool!” He used to know how to talk to them without thinking about it. “I bet your family’s happy to have you back.”

  


Akaashi offers a smile, gentle and polite. There’s a familiar light in their eyes, and Koutarou feels—

  


He’s not sure what he feels.

  


Akaashi pierced their ear, right along the base of the curve, and a little silver ring loops around the cartilage. It looks nice, Koutarou thinks.

  


“Kimi was excited to hear I’d be getting back early,” they tell him. “Think my mom’s glad to have me back, too. She keeps saying how quiet it’s been since Hiro moved out.” Koutarou wasn’t aware their brother had moved out. He can feel himself frowning and stops it before Akaashi can think anything wrong of it. “It’s nice, though. I like seeing them all again.”

  


“You never liked being away from them,” Koutarou comments. This, at least, he remembers. The phone calls that took place at all hours of the night, when Akaashi was homesick and needed someone to talk to. Koutarou always picked up, even if he’d been dead asleep when the phone rang. Somewhere along the line, the calls had begun to come less frequently.

  


“It was weird,” Akaashi says, smile widening just a twitch. “Too quiet. Too _clean._ I think . . . it was good, though. To be away. I learned a lot. And I think _they_ all learned a lot without me. Kaori actually does a lot of the cooking now, without starting any fires.”

  


A small laugh bubbles out of Koutarou, and Akaashi’s smile grows a little more. “A miracle they survived without you, huh?” He offers a smile of his own, feeling more comfortable here, with them. “Are you . . . Are you back permanently? Do you have a job somewhere, or . . .”

  


Or are they going to leave again?

  


“Ah, yes.” Akaashi fidgets with the handle of their basket. Half of what’s in there is sweets. That, at least, hasn’t changed in the slightest. “I have a couple of offers at different studios here, so I’ll be sticking around. Do you? Have something now, that you’re doing? The last time we talked you said you were thinking about coaching some.”

  


Koutarou nods, beaming, even though there’s a knotting feeling in his heart through it all. Has it been that long? That Akaashi doesn’t know? “I’m coaching some classes part-time! Just locally, at a gym near my old university, a couple classes a week. But I’ve got my job at the library, too! It’s super cool, I’m organizing all the story times for each week. All the kids are really great.”

  


Akaashi looks at him with a flash of something akin to pride. It’s familiar — the sort of look he’d get on the court when he nailed a good straight, or did well on a math exam, or when he finished his university entrance exams. Koutarou feels light with it. Knowing that Akaashi is proud of him, happy to see him accomplish what he’d set out to do — he’s filled with pure _light_.

  


“That’s wonderful, Bokuto-san. I’m happy you’re doing something you enjoy.” And they mean it, Koutarou knows. Akaashi never speaks with anything but sincerity, in regards to the things that matter, at least.

  


A thought in the back of Koutarou’s mind: he must still matter to Akaashi, on some level.

  


He feels relieved at that.

  


There’s a pause, a beat of silence that lapses between them. Akaashi’s gaze falls towards the floor, hands fidgeting more intently with their basket. Nerves. Koutarou feels it in the pit of his stomach, furling in and over itself. Has he given Akaashi reason to be nervous? Did he say something? Look at them the wrong way? Koutarou isn’t sure.

  


But then Akaashi speaks up, breaking through the static of the fluorescent lights and the distant buzzing of the refrigerators, and Koutarou understands immediately. “I . . . My mom’s been asking about you, you know.”

  


Koutarou’s turn to be anxious, now. She’s asking about him? It’s been over a year since he even spoke to Akaashi, longer since he saw anyone from their family. They’ve been apart for so long, the distance mounting like a growth that he couldn’t rid himself of, until the lines had been drawn and crossed and their nightly calls became weekly, then monthly, maybe, then not at all. Until Koutarou’s heart had wrung itself inside and out, that specific, spectacular pain of falling out of a five-year-old love.

  


Everyone knows, they haven’t spoken. That they are separate entities whose worlds don’t overlap a single hair anymore. Akaashi’s mom would know this.

  


But she’s asking about him.

  


“If you wanted . . .” Akaashi lifts their gaze, seeking out Koutarou’s. He forces himself to quell his turning stomach and meet it. “If you wanted, you could drop by for dinner sometime. Catch up? Kimi misses you, and Hiro’s supposed to be in town next weekend. Just, um. If you wanted.” They lose momentum as they continue on, words growing steadily softer and less certain, because they know it, too, of course they do.

  


The last time they spoke was a weak phone conversation. Akaashi was going on a date with some guy from one of their classes that night, and Koutarou had spent the rest of the night wallowing in his room, knowing with a sense of finality that the door between them was closed.

  


The awkwardness of the whole situation strikes Koutarou right in his chest. He doesn’t want it to be awkward.

  


So he finds himself saying, “Okay.” Akaashi’s hands still, eyes lighting. “Okay, yeah, yeah! I’d like that a lot.” He offers the best smile he can muster. The only way to dispel whatever air is between them now is to persist with force and try not to mind the time he knows it’ll take.

  


Akaashi smiles back. Something inside Koutarou lifts, like the early morning fog dispersing as the day breaks.

  


“I’ll text you, then? You still have the same number, right?”

  


Koutarou nods, probably a little excessively with his excitement at the prospect of having his friendship with Akaashi back.

  


When they part ways, it’s on a high note, the door cracking back open. There’s an easiness settled in Koutarou’s mind and chest the whole way back home. The months he’d spent missing Akaashi even when they were still talking, and the whole year he’d spent getting over them, moving on, the way he should have the second Akaashi was admitted to two different schools in the states and another in France — all of the weight it’d pressed on his shoulders, dissipated. He’s missed his friend. More than anything else in the world, he’s missed them. Missed being able to talk to them about anything and everything, teasing them about their shitty drawing skills and spending evenings crammed onto their couch with half their family to watch old movies. He’s missed the comfort Akaashi always provided.

  


And even if there’s been a shift, even if things don’t turn out to be exactly the same as they were, he’ll still have even just a piece them back.

  


Kenma gives him the most genuine, warm smile Koutarou’s ever seen from him when he drops in at his and Kuroo’s place the next night and tells them about Akaashi. He lets Koutarou settle in beside him on their narrow couch and just _smiles,_ like he knows exactly what he’s feeling, and he probably does. Kenma’s just all-knowing, always has been. Has all the answers to the world in the palm of his hand.

  


“I know you missed them,” he says, tucking himself into Koutarou’s side. “I’m glad you’ve got a chance to reconnect.”

  


Across the room, folded haphazardly in their oversized arm chair, Kuroo gives him a look like he has more to say than he’s actually going to. Koutarou knows. He was there all the nights Koutarou’s whole chest ached with the void Akaashi had left, and had listened to his quiet admissions that he was in love in _love_ and hated that he was too much a coward to ever admit it. When Akaashi had left the country for their first year at university, it was Kuroo’s couch Koutarou curled up on and watched drama after endless drama, already trying to hold together a heart that hadn’t yet broken, but was on its way to it.

  


Kuroo had watched Koutarou fall in and messily out of love with Akaashi, so Koutarou can hazard a guess what he wants to say.

  


But he also has nothing to worry about. Koutarou’s been down that road already, and knows it doesn’t end well, so he’s learned. He just wants Akaashi back as a friend. He has zero intentions of falling in love again, especially with someone he’ll never have like that. His heart’s protected, this time.

  


Kuroo doesn’t say any of what he’s thinking. Just gives one last long glance to Koutarou and goes back to the book he’s reading. He trusts him, then. Koutarou swallows a smile and focuses back on the game Kenma’s playing on his DS.

  


To have Akaashi in any capacity is enough. Even if it’s just casual conversation every now and again, even if they never get back to the same sense of familiarity they had before, it’s enough. Because no matter what, it’s still Akaashi.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Akaashi texts Koutarou two days later, asking if the next Saturday is okay, and gives him their address as if he would have forgotten. He knew the route to it from Fukurodani just as well as he knew how to get back to his own home, and could probably find his way to it backwards and blindfolded on his knees from anywhere in Tokyo. So it’s a little weird, for sure, but not even that could take away from the blooming in his chest at the prospect of seeing Akaashi and their whole family again.

  


Nights after school had ended and they’d worn themselves out at practice were always marked with half-cold dinners and Akaashi’s bedroom, where they’d both sprawl out with their homework. Weekends, they barely managed any work at all over the course of the two years they were both at school together — everything always got tossed to the side within the first thirty minutes in favor of old Gamecube games that had a tendency to freeze up now and again, or movies with Akaashi’s sisters. Even when Koutarou started university, he made sure to drop by as often as he could. Things were busier then, but any stress fell away the second Koutarou walked in the door.

  


In a sense, Akaashi’s home had always also been a little bit of Koutarou’s. It’s always been as familiar to him as the sound of their laugh, so he’s not sure why he’s expecting it to feel weird when he walks up to the door Saturday afternoon, store-bought pastries in hand. But it doesn’t. It feels the same as dropping by Kuroo and Kenma’s, or at Oikawa’s place. Nothing about it has changed. Maybe some new stains, a little more mess here and less there.

  


It’s definitely just as noisy as ever.

  


Akaashi answers the door in an all-too familiar way, and Koutarou’s immediately met with pounding footsteps coming from upstairs and the sound of Super Mario Sunshine coming from the next room. Someone is yelling, somewhere. It sounds like one of the twins. Akaashi, for their part, doesn’t look the slightest bit sheepish. They know that Koutarou has always expected this much from their home.

  


They step aside to let him in, and he peers around the front room, taking it all back in. On the wall right beside the door frame — that’s a new burn mark, for sure. He doesn’t remember that being there the last time he was here. He makes a note to ask about it later, because there’s gotta be a story there — there’s always a story, with everything in this house — and he wants to hear about it.

  


“I told them you’d be coming,” Akaashi says, watching Koutarou toe off his shoes and shrug off his coat, “but I didn’t exactly say when, so. I don’t think they’re exactly ready.”

  


Koutarou snorts and flashes them a smile. “They wouldn’t have been ready even if they did know when.”

  


A mess. An uncoordinated, untimely mess. That’s Akaashi’s family. Koutarou loves them all dearly.

  


(Is he allowed to still feel the same love? It’s been a couple years. Does he still have the privilege?)

  


“Bokuto-san!”

  


Koutarou doesn’t have time to register his name or the rush of limbs coming at him before he’s being wrapped in a tight hug, arms squeezing right around his middle. Wide eyes peer up at him, matched with a familiar grin.

  


(He definitely still has the privilege. Even if he doesn’t, the same love sparks up, so. End of story.)

  


He hugs Kaori back without hesitation. It’s infinitely familiar and infinitely different — both at the same time. She’s gotten taller. Chopped her hair way short. But just like Akaashi is still Akaashi, Kaori is still Kaori, with the same crooked smile and lilting voice. That’s all Koutarou needs to comfort himself.

  


The hug only lasts a short moment before Akaashi’s sister is pulling back to sock him right in the arm. Koutarou yelps and steps back, hand coming up to cover the place she hit. It doesn’t hurt much. Rui’s the athletic one, who could probably take Koutarou in a fight when it comes down to it. And it’s not like Kaori actually means any harm. Just—

  


“Where the fuck have you been?”

  


That startles a laugh out of Koutarou, while Akaashi frowns with a sharp, “Language.”

  


Kaori just waves them off and looks up expectantly at Koutarou, waiting for an answer.

  


“What would he visit for if I’m not around?” Akaashi says, sparing him from having to try to explain that he just _couldn’t,_ that seeing them wouldn’t have helped his aching heart any. “You think he comes around to see any of you? I wasn’t here, so what was the point?”

  


Kaori scoffs and turns her gaze onto them. “As if. Bokuto-san was just using you as an excuse to see us and you know it. Way to be full of yourself, Kei.” She hooks an arm around Koutarou’s elbow, standing up straighter, holding her head higher. The real snotty way she definitely learned from Akaashi. “I’ll take him from here, thanks. You can go off and do whatever the hell it is you do.”

  


Akaashi rolls their eyes and wraps their hand around Koutarou’s other arm, pulling him in the other direction. “In your dreams. Where’s Kimi?”

  


Kaori pads along with them down the hall, still sticking at Koutarou’s side. “Helping with dinner. Hiro’s in there, he needs all the help he can get.” She says this purposefully loud enough for Hiro to hear from the kitchen.

  


He returns back with an, “I can _hear_ you,” and Kaori simply tells him that was the point.

  


It’s all so familiar and Koutarou aches with it. He’s missed this.

  


There’s an odd feeling in his gut when they bypass Akaashi’s room entirely, going straight to the kitchen instead. He knows that of course, there’s no reason to be going in anyway. It’s more that it breaks the pattern Koutarou was once familiar with. It feels the same as the rare occasions where he doesn’t get a phone call from Kenma on his way home from work — not bad, necessarily, just different. Not going straight to Akaashi’s room to hang out alone for a little, laugh at dumb cat videos, share some of Akaashi’s massive sweets stash.

  


Another point, of how much time has passed, and how much their relationship has shifted.

  


Kaori hops up to sit on the counter as soon as they get into the kitchen, peering down at whatever it is Hiro’s cooking. It smells good for sure, if slightly burnt, but Koutarou doesn’t really expect anything less.

  


Akaashi leaves Koutarou lingering in the doorway and picks grapes out of a bowl on the counter, like they expect Koutarou to just find his own place in the mix, settle himself down, the same way he used to every time he came over. It would’ve been easier a couple years ago, but now the uncertainty is coming back. What’s he supposed to say? He hasn’t spoken to any of them in even longer than he last spoke to Akaashi, and he’s realizing it’s weird, it’s definitely weird, if he just fits himself right back in as if no time has passed at all.

  


His own inaction leads everyone else to fill in the blanks for him. It takes about two seconds for Kimi to turn from where she’s leaning against Hiro’s side, pestering him about not stirring enough, and as soon as she’s noticed Koutarou in the doorway, she’s beaming. She’s even taller now, older — the same, Koutarou realizes, as the twins, when he first met them. Has this much time really passed?

  


“Bokuto-san!”

  


Her words get Hiro’s attention, too, because then he’s turning to look while Kimi hops over to give Koutarou a tight hug, and then he’s just got half of Akaashi’s family asking where he’s been, how he’s been, what he’s been doing, and it’s loud and chaotic and he doesn’t even notice when Hikaru joins them, but he does, and _he_ looks like _Akaashi_ when Koutarou first met _them,_ which is just as terrible as Kimi looking like Rui and Kaori, because it’s been so long. Too long. He might cry a little.

  


“You could all stand to give him some space, you know,” Akaashi finally says from the stove, where they’ve taken over Hiro’s job, hopefully making sure nothing gets burnt worse than it already is.

  


“You could stand to let us live our lives,” Kimi fires back, and it startles a laugh out of Koutarou. She was always the softer-spoken one, less prone to snark, but Koutarou can’t really be surprised if she’s suddenly picked up a habit for it, considering the rest of the family.

  


Even with that response, they do back away, and let Koutarou take a seat at the kitchen table, feeling marginally better when Akaashi takes the place beside him and Hiro goes to the stove, and he feels like he has a little more breathing room. More comfort, knowing Akaashi’s got his back. They’ve always done well with making him feel better when he’s overwhelmed.

  


Eventually, the rest of Akaashi’s family fills in, and it’s loud and messy and rice gets spilled fully over the floor, and then it just gets louder as they all scramble to get it cleaned up before the dog can get into it and make himself sick. It is absolutely everything Koutarou has missed in the last couple of years. In the midst of it all, he catches Akaashi’s eye, and sees they’re smiling, too. He doesn’t think he could ask for more.

  


Dinner gets set out and passed around, and there are only minor casualties of small scraps dropped to the floor, which is a little impressive, if he’s being honest. Conversation lifts away from Koutarou, temporarily at least, now that they’ve all had a small chance to interrogate him on the big things. They fill him in on themselves instead, letting him know everything he’s missed, and it’s just _nice._ It’s overwhelmingly beyond nice to be back with Akaashi and their family, and finally feeling the last dregs of awkwardness dissipate as Rui laughs at one of his lame jokes while Hiro calls it out for being lame, and this is everything Koutarou thought he was never going to get to have again.

  


Akaashi offers him a small smile. Everything Koutarou thought he was never going to get to have again. And here he is.

  


Dinner is good. Akaashi and Akaashi’s family are good. Hearing about Kimi taking up volleyball and Hikaru’s high school classes, and the twins taking on the last curve of their third year — it’s all _good._

  


Less good is hearing about Akaashi. It’s still— It’s fine, it’s great, Koutarou loves to catch up, to know that he gets to be a part of this life he’s missed now, but at the same time, it’s just that. This is a life he’s missed out on so much of. He watches them take a helping of baby carrots and can’t piece together when their full aversion to them ended. He listens to their family talk about their last boyfriend — a recent breakup, apparently — and of course they’ve been dating, Koutarou has been, too, it’s just weird to hear about it. Koutarou doesn’t recognize the names of half of Akaashi’s friends and that’s even weirder. He used to know everything about them and now he’s so far behind and it’s a little discomfiting.

  


Just as discomfiting: every time Akaashi asks Koutarou about something he thought they would have known and realizes that no, of course they wouldn’t. They used to know everything about him, too, and now they don’t.

  


Koutarou’s not sure what to do with any of that other than file it all away to bring up to Kenma and Kuroo and Oikawa later. They’ll have logical sense to talk into him, and help him sort out all his feelings, and it’ll be fine. Akaashi is back in Koutarou’s life. It’ll be fine.

  


He doesn’t stay much past that. He doesn’t know if he should, really.

  


Akaashi walks him to the door and leans in the frame, casual and easy and comfortable, and seeing them like that eases something in Koutarou.

  


“I have missed you, you know,” they confess, voice gentle.

  


“I’ve missed you too,” Koutarou says, offering an honest smile. “We should go out next week sometime! Get lunch or something! I wanna hear about your new job, you’ve gotta tell me everything.”

  


“I’d like that.”

  


Akaashi promises to call and Koutarou knows they will. He goes home with a settled mind and a warm feeling in his chest. He’s missed this. Missed them. And Akaashi’s missed him, too.

  


They’re getting back to even ground.

  


This is all Koutarou could ever ask for.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Falling in love with Akaashi was, possibly, one of the easiest things Koutarou’s ever done.

  


He’s always imagined it must have to be, when you know someone so well. When you know a person inside and out, flipped around and over and could pick out their shadow in a pitch black cave blindfolded and backwards, it’s probably hard not to say you’re in love with them. And Koutarou’s always known Akaashi.

  


Maybe not always. Not the first few months, maybe. There was a learning curve, or something. Time needed to find the balance between them and match their pace. It was a gap, but a small one, and easy to close between early practices and lunches with half the team crowded around Konoha’s desk. Koutarou fit himself at their side, and learned easy to read the wide open book Akaashi’s always been.

  


Early practices turned to nights finishing late at the gym before walking to the train together, and lunches with the team turned into just the two of them, in any corner they could find. Akaashi listened to Koutarou talk on about whatever came to mind, for as long as he could talk about it, and didn’t interrupt — encouraged him to go on, even. When they had their piece to share, Koutarou took in every word. Akaashi didn’t ever go on as long, not out of the fact that they didn’t want to talk, but rather, they tended to condense the same amount of thought into shorter phrases. Koutarou cherished every piece.

  


Somewhere along the line, Akaashi turned from teammate to friend, and from friend into something more. Someone Koutarou suddenly knew best. He found himself on so many nights crammed on the couch with their sisters, learning to knit, going to their rugby matches and plays, helping to teach their youngest siblings to read.

  


_Best friend._ That was what Koutarou called them. His best _best_ friend. Konoha gave him a look that held a significance Koutarou didn’t understand in the moment, and Kuroo scoffed with something similar. But he didn’t really care to figure it out then.

  


What he knew was this:

  


Akaashi was the person he knew best. The person he spent the most of his time with. The person who always accompanied him to go shopping when his mom didn’t have time for groceries, or he needed new kneepads, and the person whose bedroom floor he spent too many afternoons to count napping on in lieu of studying, head in their lap and book he hadn’t been paying any attention to closed on his chest.

  


They always chided him, “This is why you’re doing so poorly in math.”

  


“This isn’t even for math,” Koutarou fired back, “this is for literature.”

  


“And what’s your grade in that class?”

  


That shut Koutarou up.

  


Akaashi was good at that. Knowing just the right thing to say, or do, to get the reaction they wanted out of him. Teasing remarks about his grades to get him to study, space on the court to settle down and wave the pressure off his shoulders, a completely false act of nonchalance to get him to give them his last Kit-Kat. If they were an open book, then so was he, and they were paying attention.

  


He wasn’t really sure what to make of that.

  


What he knew was this:

  


Akaashi was the person he knew best. He knew they had the world’s biggest sweet tooth. They hid ice cream behind the vegetables in their freezer, kept candy in an empty shoebox in their closet, and the owners of their favorite bakery knew them by name. (This was also the quickest Cheer Akaashi Up solution — a bad day meant the first step to a better mood was Koutarou swinging by with a bag of chocolate and gummy candy, ice cream if the weather was right for it.)

  


They were terrible in the cold. As soon as the temperature dropped, they’d pile on layer after layer, going so far as to steal Koutarou’s hat on the chilliest days. Not that Koutarou minded. He always ran warm, and most days, he only wore a hat so Akaashi could take it when they needed. Winters always led to them clinging to Koutarou to steal his warmth — taking his hand, curling up into his side on the couch, shamelessly dropping right into his lap on the floor of the club room and pulling his open jacket far enough forward to wrap around their own shoulders. They were a touchy person in general, but winter brought it out in full force.

  


Akaashi was the ~~best sibling in the whole world.~~ second best. They were the second best sibling in the whole world, because Koutarou was the _best_ best to his sister, even if he didn’t sew buttons back onto her school jacket or read to her before bed. They were snarky and intentionally annoying and totally stole from Rui’s sweets stash more than once, but they made up their lunches, went to all their club events, helped with their laundry and sometimes let Kimi win at Mario Kart.

  


A lot of information. Koutarou knew a lot of information about Akaashi. That they fidgeted all the time, that their hands were all he had to look at to know if they were nervous or excited or upset. That they hated carrots (hated, past-tense, apparently), and secretly knew all the words to every Twice song Koutarou played on the buses to matches. That sometimes they got really motion sick and couldn’t ride roller coasters after a particularly terrible incident when they were twelve.

  


Most of it was probably useless, when it came down to it. Facts Koutarou probably couldn’t really do anything with. But he still remembered everything about them. Because that’s what best friends did, right? Remembered. Cared. Something like that, right? Right?

  


Some days he wasn’t sure if that was where the line ended.

  


What he knew was this:

  


Akaashi was the person he knew best. Sometimes, when they laughed, it made Koutarou feel everything all at once right in the middle of his chest. When the phone rang and it was them calling, he’d pick up immediately, no hesitation, always excited to see their contact name scroll across the screen.

  


Akaashi was the person he knew best. The person he spent the most time with. Maybe the person most important to him.

  


He started to decipher Konoha’s look, Kuroo’s fully unsubtle teasing.

  


Best friends . . . _friends_ . . . probably didn’t do the things they did, did they? Koutarou didn’t even meet Konoha’s sister until the day of their graduation. He didn’t know if Washio liked sweets or not, didn’t know Yukie’s favorite drama, never brought his spare scarf for Komi to borrow. He’d never spent a single night laid out in Washio’s lap watching terrible romance movies and sharing a single milkshake.

  


What Koutarou decided late in the night when on the phone with Akaashi but not talking, because he was pretty sure they’d fallen asleep a good five minutes ago, after a three hour conversation spanning at the same time every topic ever and absolutely nothing at all:

  


He was definitely at least a little in love with Akaashi Keiji.

  


What he didn’t know was this:

  


What to do with those feelings.

  


And maybe that’s where total galactic collapse began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ginny said yes so i'm posting this chaptered ex oh ex oh  
> (it works better this way, i think)
> 
> [[twit](https://twitter.com/johzenjiTM) || [tumb](https://extrasolxr.tumblr.com/)]


	2. total galactic collapse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > It’s like this:
>> 
>> Koutarou fell in love with Akaashi messily.
>> 
>> He fell out of love the same way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [because i love you, because the words "i love you" aren't enough,  
>  i let you go](https://youtu.be/VCexOngHnA4)

Getting over Akaashi was, probably, the hardest thing Koutarou’s ever had to do.

 

Initially, he thought it would be fine. As soon as he discovered the feelings were there, he decided it was totally and perfectly fine, and that he wouldn’t let it get in the way of their friendship, and in time, he’d get over it. And it would be _fine._

 

(Maybe that’s a little false. Maybe — _maybe_ — there was a brief period in which Koutarou wasn’t sure how to act around them, overthinking whether or not he was staring too much or too long, if he always reached for their hand this much, if it was obvious even through the phone that he was hanging off their every word.

 

It took two weeks before Akaashi looked at him straight on, asked if something was wrong, if they’d done anything, sounding a little _hurt,_ Koutarou was horrified to realize, and the act cut off then and there. Even if it was painfully, impossibly clear that he was harboring massive feelings for them, he wasn’t going to let it get in the way.)

 

It’s like this:

 

Koutarou fell in love with Akaashi messily.

 

He’s never handled things particularly gracefully, especially not feelings, especially not his _own_ feelings. So he handled his heart with absolutely no finesse, handled it like no matter what he did, it wouldn’t break, even though it was made of pure, crystalline glass already cracked halfway around.

 

He stumbled over himself with his own feelings until he was tipped head over heels for Akaashi. When he wasn’t avoiding them, he was taking in as much as he could, submerging himself three leagues deep under the waters and pushing deeper until his lungs overflowed. He laid out on their floor with his head in their lap, eyes skimming over the book they were reading, even though he didn’t know what was going on, was beyond lost. Just to be close to them. Just to have a little more. He was tucked in the corner of the club room with them, sitting with their bodies touching shoulder to elbow to hip to knee as they talked strategy, talked what to do about Komi’s twisted ankle, talked what kind of ice cream they should pick up on their way back to Akaashi’s. He was hanging off their every spoken word, aware of the fact that he was looking at them like they’d hung the moon and sun and every last star even galaxies away, in part because he was pretty sure they _had._

 

The last tournament of his high school career came and went. Akaashi’s last set to him, the one to give Fukurodani the title of _first,_ to give them the title of _champions of the world,_ or at least Japan, but it kind of felt the same anyway, didn’t it? The set to make Koutarou’s heart burst out of his chest, that world-at-a-standstill feeling blooming in its place. (He didn’t pick up on it then. Wouldn’t pick up on it until months later, just past graduation, when Yukie handed the whole team framed photos of the moment, a departing gift. Immediately glaring out at him: Akaashi’s smile, directed at Koutarou. Looking at him the way he’d been looking at them for _months._ If he didn’t know what to do with his feelings before, he certainly didn’t know what to do with them now.)

 

Volleyball was cleared from his schedule to make room for college prep courses. It meant less time with the rest of the team, less time with Akaashi, no time on the court at all, which left a spectacular weight in the pit of his stomach, but none of it meant anything when he was finally finished in the evening and Akaashi was still waiting for him, to walk home together, because as much as was changing in those final few months, this wouldn’t. Nights spent together huddled on Akaashi’s bedroom floor in the low lamplight with half-eaten bags of chips between them — those wouldn’t change. Not yet.

 

Koutarou passed the entrance exams for his second- and third-choice schools, and Konoha and Komi presented him with an entire cake, half of which ended up on the ground outside third gym, and Akaashi came out to dinner with him and his mother and spent the entire night after tucked into Koutarou’s side in his bed while they watched old movies. Everything about it felt like the first and final step forward, the same way a star must feel at the end of its life before it bursts into something wholly new.

 

“You still have to come by, like, all the time,” Rui told him one night over dinner, a month out from his graduation. “Just because you’re gonna be all university big shot doesn’t mean you can move on or whatever.”

 

Koutarou had snorted and given her a look. “You think I would?”

 

“He still lives at home,” Akaashi cut in. “It’s not like he’s going anywhere. He’ll still be around, you’re overdramatic.”

 

“Oh, _rich,_ coming from you,” Rui said.

 

Akaashi had fired something equally snarky back at her, and Hiro had contributed something else, and it grew to be just as loud as any other dinner at Akaashi’s. Koutarou leaned into Akaashi’s side, an easy smile on his lips, warmth blooming in his chest. This was home. It would take a lot to pull Koutarou out of this orbit.

 

His university classes started, and he still dropped by Akaashi’s on the way home half the week. It was different, but still the same as always. He didn’t know the new first years on the team Akaashi brought up when meeting him at the train after a long practice, and he had to do a lot more explaining regarding his coursework and the friends he was making, but when it came down to it, it was still Koutarou and Akaashi. Still tucked together on their bedroom floor, books pushed aside in favor of watching the previous weekend’s national match. Still in the kitchen with quiet music playing off Akaashi’s phone, Koutarou’s chin hooked over their shoulder while he watched them chop peppers. Still warm and familiar and _nice._

 

That wasn’t going to change. These were habits as deeply rooted as Koutarou’s feelings, as familiar as the curve of their smile, and they wouldn’t change. He had confidence in that. Comfort.

 

And maybe it started there. The familiarity of it all, and Koutarou’s fears of it ever changing. His fear of confessing even when his feelings felt overwhelming, even when he thought — was nearly positive by now — they were mutual, the thought of change haunted him. Another step up meant the fall would be that much greater if it came, so he held on. There would be time, for things to come when he was ready. Plenty of time.

 

He was positive.

 

And then summer came.

 

Summer came and Akaashi took a trip to the states. Fell in love. Talked about the cities and towns they went through with stars in their eyes. Totally waxed poetic about art and museums and architecture, had endless photos to share with Koutarou. It was the kind of love that felt like completion, he thought, the way they spoke about it.

 

So maybe it started there.

 

. . . Koutarou’s not actually sure it matters anymore, where the start of it was. Just that somewhere along the line, somewhere during that year, there was a shift. A wrench in the cogs, screwing things up, because by the time Akaashi had graduated, they’d been accepted into two different schools abroad on top of all the ones they applied for within Tokyo, and set out to follow their heart.

 

Koutarou’s was beating out of tune within his chest.

 

“It’s gonna be weird without you here,” Koutarou said, sitting in the middle of their floor while they packed clothes into suitcases. “Where am I going to go after I’m finished with classes?”

 

Akaashi turned to him with a snort. “Like you won’t still come here. The last tournament I was gone for, you still spent the whole weekend here playing Mario Kart with Hikaru.”

 

“But you came back after, made him apologize for cheating. Who’s gonna call him out now?” He said it lightly, teasing, but there were turning stones in the pit of his stomach. It was true that Akaashi’s home was as familiar as his own, but it was also true that half the reason why was because Akaashi was _there._ They were about to not be.

 

“I’ll call,” Akaashi said. They settled down behind him to refold their sweaters, trying to cram them all into the suitcase more tightly. “Tell me when you’re around, and I’ll call and make sure to tell everyone off for not letting you win.”

 

Koutarou beamed, leaning back against them. He tilted his chin up to look them in the eye, and another stone dropped into the mix at the sheer proximity. The last of it.

 

The smile slowly slid off his face. “I’m going to miss you,” he murmured. Endings are for honesty, after all. Something about closure. There had been a million different ways to twist it in every sappy drama he’d watched with Akaashi. Endings for honesty, or carry a heavy heart forever.

 

(The thought settled in Koutarou’s mind, later, that somehow, he’d ended up with both.)

 

They gave a small, tight smile back, hand coming up to comb through Koutarou’s hair, touch as gentle as ever. “I’m going to miss you, too.”

  
  
  
  
  


 

 

The thing about having friends who have all settled down when you yourself have not is that there’s no one to talk to about the really terrible dates and encounters, or the slight resulting anxiety and loneliness. They’ll listen, and nod along, and try to offer support, because they care like that. But they don’t really _get it_ anymore, not when they haven’t been on a first date in ages, have long since forgotten what it’s like to have no spark, no click, not even anything in common with the person you’re stuck with for another good hour at _least_ before an uncomfortable drive back to drop them off at home; they don’t remember the low twinge of fear of never finding anyone at all, because this is how it’s always gone and at this rate, what if it’s how it always goes?

 

They can’t relate. So it feels lonelier, even when they mean well, and all in all it’s just easier not to talk about it. Bottle it up, move along.

 

As is the case, Koutarou doesn’t text Kenma or call Oikawa after Hirayama brings him back to his house. It’d been a long and painful two hours, and Koutarou had spent at least half of it wishing he’d ordered some sake after all. Rather than anything else, as soon as he’s in the door, he’s holed up in his room, an anime Kenma recommended pulled up on his laptop, ready to distract himself until he can fall asleep.

 

His friends don’t really know the feeling anymore. But, despite having about the same amount of understanding, at least middle schoolers don’t try to pretend they get it.

 

“He was just _boring,”_ he says, pulling a cart of volleyballs towards the storage room. One falls off the top and bounces to the floor with the motion of it, but Kanna bends to pick it up without missing a beat. “All he wanted to talk about was the screenplay he’s writing, which wasn’t even all that interesting.”

 

Kanna sets the ball back in the cart and nods. “He sounds lame. Really snotty. People shouldn’t just talk about themselves, it’s selfish.”

 

“But aren’t you supposed to get to know each other on dates?” Aiko asks. “How are you going to do that if you don’t talk about yourself?” She pulls the cart from Koutarou’s hands, pushing it the rest of the way across the court. She’s definitely avoiding having to help take down the net, but Koutarou won’t call her out on it. She probably knows that, too.

 

“You’re supposed to let them _ask_ first,” Kanna sighs, like it’s painfully obvious, and it really is, Koutarou thinks. Proper date etiquette. He knows all about it by now. Looked it up online and everything on a particularly low night ages ago. He could write the book on dating himself by now. Would, if he had an actual success story to close it off with. “And you’re supposed to ask _them_ about _themselves,_ not spend the whole time just talking about yourself.”

 

“Well, I think people should _want_ to hear all about me,” Aiko sniffs. She’s joking, Koutarou knows. Or at least, hopes. “I’m _fascinating.”_

 

“What’s fascinating is how Mina is taking down the net alone again, the second time this week.”

 

“You’re right, that _is_ fascinating.” Aiko avoids eye contact with them both, and Koutarou snorts.

 

“Just go help her take it down,” he says. “I don’t want to have to make you run extra laps.”

 

That sends her off, and Koutarou goes back for the second cart. Kanna trails after him, because of course she does. She thinks she’s got some kind of special privilege because she’s Kenma’s niece, thinks he doesn’t notice if she rarely-if-ever actually helps set up or clear the courts.

 

“I don’t think you’ve ever come in here talking about a good date,” she notes. “You’ve got some really bad luck, coach.”

 

“You don’t have to remind me.” He pulls the second cart along, trying not to think too much about how, yeah, his luck’s been terrible from the very beginning of everything. Bad luck that started with Akaashi and that he’s doomed to carry on forever onward.

 

Chiaki bounces over, swings an arm around Kanna’s shoulders and peers up at Koutarou. “Who’s that waiting, coach?” She glances quickly over her shoulder towards the gym doors and back again. “Friend? Hot date?”

 

Koutarou follows her gaze to where a familiar figure is lingering, clearly unsure whether or not to actually come properly inside, or if they should just wait there. A smile pulls at Koutarou’s lips.

 

“That’s Akaashi,” he says, returning his attention to his athletes. “They’re just a friend. We’re getting lunch.”

 

Kanna hums and eyes Akaashi a moment longer, sizing them up. “Have fun, then. Hope it’s better than your date was.”

 

“It will be.” This, at least, Koutarou knows is true. He can count on this. He’s always been able to count on Akaashi.

 

He leaves Kanna and Chiaki with the instruction to help finish cleaning up, and crosses the gym to Akaashi, greeting them with a wide smile.

 

“You came!”

 

The corners of their mouth lilt upwards. “Of course. How did practice go?” They follow him further into the gym, trailing just behind as he walks toward the storage room where his jacket and backpack are both waiting.

 

“Really well! They’re improving a lot. You’ll have to see them play sometime,” he says. He glances back to meet their eyes. “They’re really quick, you should see how fast they move. It’s like a new generation of Shrimpy-chan.”

 

That gets a snort of laughter. “I’ll come to a game one day, then,” Akaashi says. “I’d like to see that.”

 

Koutarou beams at them over his shoulder. “Now you said it, so you have to.” It’s not true, they’re under no obligation, and Koutarou already refuses to let himself have any expectations, but he still has a little bit of hope they do anyway.

 

They wait for everyone else to clear out and head home before Koutarou locks up the gym and they walk out for lunch together.

 

There’s a light in Koutarou’s chest, blooming. A bright Saturday afternoon, a good practice, lunch with Akaashi, Akaashi. Something about a new beginning. There’s some line about it in every cheesy movie ever made, something about spring and fresh spirits, fresh starts. The sun halos around Akaashi.

 

“How was your week?” Koutarou asks, arms swinging at his sides. “How’s work?”

 

“Mm, the week was good. Work’s good.” Akaashi walks with their hands shoved deep in their jacket pockets. They’ve always run cold. “It’s different than I expected, in a nice way. I’m still just starting out, but I’ll get to have a lot more creative freedom, and some really nice travel opportunities later on. Rui told me if I leave the country again, I have to take her with.”

 

Koutarou laughs. In the back of his mind, second-year-university-student Koutarou, starting-to-lose-his-best-friend Koutarou buzzes something along the lines of _me, too._

 

Current Koutarou knows better.

 

“You were gone for nearly four years,” Koutarou says, looking over. “That’s a long time to go without someone important to you. She’s _missed_ you.”

 

“Like a sore tooth,” Akaashi jokes. “How about your week, Bokuto-san?”

 

“Okay! Nothing really exciting. I spent all day yesterday cutting yarn to make bookmarks at a program next week, I think the kids’re gonna love it. Oh! And Kenma and I went to this cat café, it was really nice. I think Kenma’s going to end up convincing Kuroo to adopt one of the cats.”

 

“Ah . . . How is Kenma-kun? And Kuroo-san?” Akaashi asks, and Koutarou feels a dull pang in his chest. Right. They haven’t spoken to them at all either, in even longer than they’ve spoken to Koutarou. Friends they used to know well—

 

“Oh. Oh! Um. They’re really good!” Koutarou fumbles, unsure of how Akaashi might feel about this. Is it weird? Uncomfortable? But then, they asked, so . . ?

 

It’s still weird. This is still— It’s been years. As much as Koutarou wants the gap to fill in, for things to feel easy again, he knows in the pit of his heart that things don’t work that way.

 

“They moved into an apartment together, a few months ago,” Koutarou says. “Kuroo’s, uh, working as a lab tech at Juntendo Hospital, and Kenma’s been doing some freelance stuff. They’re, y’know, they’re good!”

 

Akaashi nods with a quiet smile. They seem content, Koutarou thinks. This is what a Content Akaashi looks like. Koutarou knew them well enough once to recognize it.

 

“I’m glad to hear it, Bokuto-san. I’ll have to catch up with them as well sometime.”

 

Koutarou smiles back.

 

Lunch is nice. It’s _good._ Weird, a little, but Koutarou knows they just need time for it not to be.

 

Akaashi shows him pictures from the states, and some they’ve taken around the city since they’ve been back. Some for work, which take on a different feel, but they seem just as pleased with them. They talk about their family, and ask about Koutarou’s sister, and then it’s just—

 

_Talk._

 

Conversation that’s always been easy with Akaashi, about anything and everything in between. Dramas they’re watching, books they’ve read, _Why does Hikaru keep talking about AntMan in his_ ass, _where’d that come from— Don’t laugh, you know I don’t keep up with that._

 

Weird or not, it’s always been easy to just be _with_ Akaashi. Koutarou stops thinking at some point, just keeps talking, barely remembering to worry whether or not what he’s saying is the right thing. Akaashi keeps up alongside him, step for step. It’s a good three hours before either of them bothers to check the time, and by then, Koutarou is feeling the sun right inside his veins, his heart a solar flare.

 

 

 

They keep in touch. Texts exchanged regularly through the following weeks, lunches when they’ve both got the time for it, a volleyball game of Kimi’s that Koutarou tags along to, feeling right and good and _happy_ between Akaashi and the twins, all yelling and cheering and familiar. Akaashi sends pictures they take on outings, and Koutarou tells them about the programs he’s setting up for the reading groups he’s running and how his team’s been improving.

 

It feels right. It feels like the last several years have been a half-step out of tune, and now it’s all settling back into place.

 

There’s one late evening, after a date that hadn’t gone terribly but hadn’t left Koutarou with any high hopes either— He’s got nothing on his plate. Kenma’s out with Kuroo, Oikawa’s out of town, the only good movie on TV is one he’s seen too many times before. Not even his family’s around.

 

Koutarou stretches across his sofa, wondering if it’s too early to just give in and try to sleep already. He refreshes his Twitter a good eight times to find exactly zero new tweets, puts away all the dishes, tests how far he can flick his slipper across the room (it hits the wall, so the data is inconclusive). Eventually, boredom and exhaustion get the best of him. He texts Akaashi.

 

《 are u busy???

 

Refreshes Twitter again. One tweet from Oikawa, about some drama Koutarou doesn’t watch. Refreshes again. Still just Oikawa. He’s so dramatic. Acts like he hasn’t watched it three times through already and doesn’t know there’s a happy ending.

 

 **》 akaashi:** bokuto-san!!!!!

 

Koutarou blinks. He reads the text again, then checks the contact information to make sure this is actually Akaashi’s number. It is. A new message buzzes in.

 

 **》 akaashi:** this is rui btw!! i was borrowing keiji’s phone to play solitaire

 

 **》 akaashi:** to answer your question, super not busy. watching dragon ball z, kei’s teaching us english curse words

 

 **》 akaashi:** you should come over!!

 

He shifts. Is it okay to? He’s been over before, for dinner, and spent the afternoon with their family again for Kimi’s volleyball game, but those were different. That wasn’t just . . . being at Akaashi’s house, in a way they haven’t done in a long while. Is there a line? Is this crossing it?

 

《 are u sure?

 

 **》 akaashi:** yea!! we’d all like u here

 

 **》 akaashi:** come over!!!!!

 

So Koutarou goes.

 

He stands uncomfortably on the doorstep for a moment before finally dredging up the courage to ring the doorbell, and it’s a moment before anyone answers.

 

 _Anyone_ ends up being Akaashi, who just offers him a soft smile and steps aside for Koutarou to come in.

 

“I was wondering if you were coming,” they tell him as he toes out of his shoes. There’s a pause, and Koutarou looks up at them. As soon as he does, Akaashi’s smile grows a little warmer. “I’m glad you did.”

 

Koutarou beams. “How could I say no?”

 

He settles easily onto the couch, right between Akaashi and the arm rest until Kaori comes in and forces them to move over so she can sit on his other side. It feels homey and familiar and right, old anime on the TV, Hikaru sprawled across the floor with his Switch, burned popcorn being passed around between them all. Akaashi is warm against his side, closer than would probably normally be comfortable with anyone else with how many of them are shoved onto an already too-small couch. It’s good.

 

“What were you doing all day, huh? What had you bored enough to text _Kei?”_ Rui asks, reaching over her sibling to poke at Koutarou’s side from the other end of the couch.

 

Koutarou squirms, but it’s not uncomfortable. “Not a lot,” he says. “I had a date, but it didn’t go great, so I was just home.”

 

“A date?” Rui and Kaori flash him matching looks, and Koutarou knows this doesn’t bode well for him.

 

More unsettling: Akaashi glancing his way. They look genuinely curious as to what this is about to entail.

 

“It wasn’t anything special,” Koutarou mumbles. “It was just someone a friend at work set me up with, we only went to get coffee. It wasn’t really that great, we didn’t have much in common.” This is an aspect he’s never brought up with— any of them, really. Before, the only person he was even interested in ever dating was someone he was too scared to ever do anything about. And it’s definitely kind of weird, he thinks, to be talking about this while sitting right next to them, moved on or not. It’s just . . . new territory. He doesn’t know how to go about it.

 

“C’mon, that’s it?” Kaori nudges her elbow into his side, and Koutarou tries to lean away without crowding too much into Akaashi’s space. “Tell us more! What was he like? What told you he wasn’t the _one?_ You can’t just leave it at that, even Keiji gives us more detail about _their_ dates.”

 

Akaashi snorts, and something about it pulls a little of the tension from his body. Kaori’s words sink in though, and that replaces it.

 

“I don’t know! He was nice and all, he just— he doesn’t even watch dramas,” Koutarou says.

 

 _“None?”_ Even Akaashi looks appalled. Koutarou finds himself smiling.

 

“He says they’re, I don’t know, a waste? Uninteresting? It was kinda judgmental.” Koutarou frowns. “Actually, it was really judgmental. I felt bad for mentioning it.”

 

“Seriously? You come home from work and don’t even want a _little_ bit of, I don’t know, magical time-loop kisses? Some roommate romance dramatics?” Rui looks genuinely distressed by it. “How are you going to sit there and say _Gokusen_ is _boring?”_

 

“Gokusen is a treasure,” Kaori says. Akaashi nods.

 

“I’m glad you weren’t into him.” Rui gives a solid, decisive nod. “I couldn’t let you be with someone like that.”

 

It’s a little ridiculous. Definitely makes Koutarou laugh. It wasn’t like he was _that bad,_ outside the snobby remarks, but they have a point. There’s no way to date someone who doesn’t match well with him. Not exactly the same, but—

 

“It’s hard to date someone who isn’t interested in the things you like,” Akaashi says. “Or at the very least, who won’t consider the merits of those things. Frivolous or not.” Koutarou blinks. That’s it. “And besides that, Gokusen is a national treasure, and you shouldn’t stoop so low as to give any piece of yourself up to someone who doesn’t agree.”

 

_Ah._

 

Koutarou’s heart flares bright and burning.

 

_This is it. He’s missed this._

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s like this:

 

Koutarou fell in love with Akaashi messily.

 

He fell out of love the same way.

 

The first few months of their absence was easy. Everything then felt fine. Or at least, mostly there. He still swung around to their house to visit with their family every week or two, when he had the time, and helped Kimi with her homework and walked to the park with the twins for a game of kickball with whoever would join them. Akaashi called every night, or, well, morning, or actually— Once a day. Whenever. The difference between time zones was tricky, but they made it work. Akaashi called, usually over Skype, and they talked for as long as they could. Sometimes it was less than an hour before Koutarou dozed off, sometimes he’d check the clock and three had gone by over the duration of their conversation.

 

Things were easy and comfortable. Koutarou’s heart ached, just a little, at the fact that Akaashi wasn’t within a physical distance. That when he went by their house, they weren’t there with their foot in his side shouting about how he was _absolutely_ cheating at Mario Kart, fall _off already, holy shit, what happened to when you sucked at this?_ They didn’t meet him at the train, didn’t walk back with him, didn’t hold his hand or steal his scarf or pester him for his last remaining bite of mochi ice cream.

 

But they talked. And that was enough. It had to be.

 

Sometimes Koutarou found himself sprawled across the couch at Kuroo’s, head in Kenma’s lap, four hours into one of the worst shows he’d seen to date and on his second bag of cheap licorice, baring his heart to the both of them. So early on, he hadn’t reached the point of being scared.

 

He just _missed_ them.

 

The late night admission: “I think I’m in love with Akaashi.”

 

He hadn’t been able to decipher the look on Kenma’s face, but all Kuroo had to say was that he needed to do something _about_ it.

 

“You’ve been in this for four years,” he’d said, “you can’t keep waiting it out forever, or you’ll lose it.”

 

(He _had_ been able to decipher the look Kenma gave Kuroo then, but it didn’t matter. He knew. The knot in his heart — he knew.)

 

It didn’t start changing until a couple months into Akaashi’s first semester. Koutarou got a call early in the morning, still barely awake. But he answered. Even when Akaashi called at two in the morning, or midway through dinner, Koutarou answered.

 

The distance always showed itself in the fact that it was never the same light in Tokyo as it was in Chicago, and in Akaashi’s face pixellated on Koutarou’s laptop screen. There was nothing physical about the space. Just an endless stretch of distance and time that wouldn’t wrap itself back up again.

 

“How’re classes going?” Koutarou asked, sitting forward in his desk chair. It was getting late there, he thought, even though his day was just beginning. Akaashi’s face was lit dim in the lamp light.

 

“Good,” Akaashi said. “Kinda tiring. You should see the lineup of assignments I have coming up in the next couple weeks. I’m gonna be busy. Which is nice. A little weird, though. America’s weird.” They laughed at a a joke Koutarou would never know, eyes lighting and smile tilting their lips. “You’d like it.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Koutarou cried. He would have been offended if he didn’t know better. Didn’t know Akaashi.

 

Their smile widened. “It means you like weird.”

 

Koutarou snorted, folding his arms in front of him, and leaned closer. His face filled the small window at the corner of his screen. It could have been the last dregs of sleep pulling at the deepest corners of his mind, or the feeling of homesickness that hadn’t left his chest in weeks despite the fact that he’d never left Tokyo, but the words tipped out anyway.

 

(He sometimes wonders still, if things would have been different, if he hadn’t said it. If he’d said it sooner, or sometime much later, or never at all. If this was what sparked the great implosion.)

 

“What’s that supposed to _mean,_ Akaash,’ huh? You’re weird, you know, so what’s that say?”

 

It’s not an outright confession, but in regards to each other, they’ve always excelled at reading between the lines.

 

Akaashi’s smile softened, the low light tinging it something that walked a thin line towards sadness. “Then I suppose I’m not sure if I should be flattered or offended.”

 

He wasn’t sure how to process the response. Wasn’t sure if it was to be taken positively or negatively. He definitely should have said it before Akaashi stepped onto their flight to the states, if he was going to say this at all. He could gather that much.

 

Koutarou shoved the feeling deep down. “I think you ought to be grateful,” he said.

 

Akaashi snorted, settled their chin in their hand, eyes boring into Koutarou’s soul even through all the miles between them. “Then thank you, Bokuto-san.”

 

His half-confession was never spoken of again. Not between them. To Kuroo, and Kenma, and Oikawa — regularly, over the following months. But Akaashi never once broached the subject, and Koutarou knew better than to try it himself. There was too much between them for missed opportunities.

 

It was fine, though. Their calls were still regular, and things were still nearly comfortable as ever, and anyway, Akaashi seemed _happy,_ which was all Koutarou truly cared about to begin with. If they were happy, it was enough.

 

It was always enough, had to be, even when their calls became less frequent. Even when some days the most they got back to each other was a handful of texts, some photo attachments. Akaashi was busier with school, and with new friends they were making, extracurriculars and a part-time job. Koutarou had his own classes, and Oikawa and Kuroo dragging him out half the nights every week, and volleyball, and the neighborhood dogs he walked. Their schedules didn’t overlap all that easily.

 

Sometimes a week went by before they could talk on the phone again. Sometimes two before Akaashi would Skype him.

 

There was an ache in his chest, just a little one, but it was growing. Getting worse as the days, weeks, months went by. It wasn’t that he was losing Akaashi; they were still there, texting him throughout the day, sending pictures of everything they thought he might like or find funny. But he was starting to get scared he would, and that struck him to the core.

 

It was fine though. Had to be.

 

Koutarou’s heart beating out of tone, the homesickness in his chest squeezing too tight to breathe sometimes, the feeling the shift before it really happened — it was fine.

 

Sometimes Koutarou found himself curled up on the couch at Kuroo’s, head in Kenma’s lap, four hours into a drama he hadn’t been paying any attention to, feeling too awful to even touch the stash of sweets Kenma had brought out.

 

He’d never handled things particularly gracefully, and never his own feelings. So he handled his cracking heart with no finesse, handled it like he wasn’t aware it was already breaking, too scared to look and face the truth for himself. If his heart was breaking, it’d only be over losing the person most important to him in the world, and that was a scenario he’d never even thought to imagine.

 

But the wreckage was beginning to lay itself bare in front of him.

 

Maybe he let it happen. Let his own fears get the best of him, that it was already too late, that maybe it was better this way, that it probably wouldn’t work like this between them. Looking back, it’s easy to see the falsehoods born of being too in his own head. Regardless, he pulled back.

 

Koutarou’s fear of heartbreak too great that he put himself down that road in the end anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello ,
> 
> i didn't . intend to leave things for so long. but uh! here we are. i vv much hope you liked this. i'll try to finish this before another seven months pass i promise


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